


Stay

by Arkee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Did I mention angst, Let's keep some bees, M/M, More angst, also Lestrade and John going to pubs, also featuring angst, and Sherlock can get sentimental, whoops angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkee/pseuds/Arkee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock decides to leave London months after the Fall, as there's no new good cases.<br/>On another hand, John starts realising something that he should have noticed before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> This just got longer than I initially expected it to be.  
> It happened as the result of boredom allied to a prompt that I once discussed with someone that involved Sherlock leaving John to keep bees, but John trying to keep him from doing so.
> 
> I just ask that you guys can ignore any error that it might have as I don't have a beta (yet/???) and I try to brit-pick by myself ^^'
> 
> Enjoy !

“I’m leaving in two weeks.”

It’s what John hears from Sherlock one afternoon, months after his return, when the army doctor just gets back home from Tesco, the sentence said matter-of-factly. The shorter man wonders suddenly if his friend talked to him when he was away for those three years, despite John not being with him during said time. Yet, what Sherlock just said rendered him confused, as it usually did when the man decided that he could speak to him without needing his presence and then insert a conclusion right as John set his feet in the flat.

“What? Did you get a case or something like that?”

“No, John.” Sherlock looked at him from his armchair, palms pressed together under his chin, his eyes having this particular serious look that John was only able to get a glance of when something was definitely important to reach a case’s resolution or when he was so bloody decided about anything that he had to look at the blond like that, to confirm that there wasn’t any way that he would change his mind. “I’m… retiring – it must be the proper term – from my life as a consulting detective. My family has this cottage on Sussex that mum always wanted me to be the one to take it, but that I never wanted to since I bared no interest on being there. I thought that I could live there and maybe keep bees as they seem to be quite interesting.”

John listened to him in silence, shocked by realisation of it. Sherlock was intending to leave, this time not to come back, moving away from London, from the crime scenes, from the work that John saw him praising and being proud of so often. Worst wasn’t just the realisation of that, but also the realisation that, with Sherlock moving away due a retirement, John’s life would go back to what it was before, a simple common life. He never thought that one day Sherlock would come to him and say that he was departing, taking away from John the battlefield that was chasing after criminals across rooftops, the adrenaline, the thrill of the rush. He remained speechless for half a minute.

“Why?” was the only word that was allowed to leave his mouth. He went to sit on his own armchair, trying to find some support to guide him through such news.

“You see, Lestrade doesn’t trust me anymore. The last really good case was almost two months ago and I can’t see on him any chance of giving us another good crime scene even that he can’t even work to find the resolution by himself.”

“But you have your website, don’t you? And I could fancy anything on the blog, I guess.”

“There’s anything on the website since I returned. Nothing. Also, I don’t think you can get anything on the blog either. You may have accepted me back in the flat three weeks after I reappeared, but it doesn’t mean that others can trust me again with their problems.”

And then, John got that look on Sherlock’s face, an almost private one that screamed “it-hurts-me-but-I-accept-it-because-I-am-used-to-people-judging-me-so-I-don’t-even-care-anymore-but-it-still-makes-me-sad”. John wondered if he could punch everyone who had put his best friend in such a state that was making him give up on everything of amazing that he did to be forgotten, hidden away in an old cottage on Sussex.

“Maybe they just need time to get used to have you around again” John tried to offer some comfort. Besides, you can’t just retire… I mean, look at you, you’re just on your middle thirties, it makes no sense, Sherlock.”

_Don’t try, John, we both know that it won’t change my mind,_ spoke the quiet but firm look that the detective gave to him. It still had this sadness, yet that terribly disguised with a serious expression. Sherlock shifted slightly.

_I’m afraid, John. I’m afraid that this is the start of a goodbye. You’ll say that you’ll go there on every summer, but you’ll soon get back into your normal “busy” life. You got over me before. I get it._

John ahem’ed, uncomfortably trying to organise his thoughts about the whole conversation until now. He wasn’t sure about how he should react to what was going to happen in the next fourteen days. He was just thanking God that at least for once, Sherlock wasn’t just going away without telling him, or jumping from a another building or meeting a criminal mastermind while John thought that he was being a prick and so left the dark haired man alone.

The silence that fell for five minutes was an awful one.

“Will you… move to somewhere else when I’m gone?” Sherlock asked, not looking at him. “You know… the flat’s rent is a bit expensive for just one person. I don’t know how you managed to stay when I was gone for those three years.”

“I don’t know yet. I need to think about that.” John answered with a sad smile, and then got up, going into the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Yes, it would be nice.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the first three days after Sherlock spoke about moving out, things were like nothing had ever happened at all and that, by any moment, Lestrade would text with a new case and everything would just be alright. But in the end, they were just avoiding to bring the topic into any discussion.

By the fourth day, though, the feeling that it was about to happen very soon hit both of them, John mostly. For the first time in ages, when he woke up, the kitchen’s table hadn’t any danger experiments. It was clean. The very sight of if made his breath get caught in his throat. So amazed was he by the clear state of the table that he didn’t notice Sherlock near him until he spoke to acknowledge him.

“I made tea.”

John turned almost immediately at the sound of that baritone voice, something hiding there, some sort of guilty. An attempt of apologising for all the mess that he made on that very kitchen over the years. Although, despite that, Sherlock looked like his usual self, his expression the same cold mask that he had on a crime scene, lips curving up briefly into a half smile as he noticed John’s expression of pure surprise and amazingness.

And not only was the kitchen table clean. The whole kitchen was clean.

“You cleaned the kitchen. You never clean the kitchen.” John let out, still startled. “You also never make tea either.”

“I did, yes.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as John turned once again from him to open the fridge.

He got rid of the body parts. John was feeling like about to throw up, feeling his heart beat as if it was on his throat instead of his chest. He would never know how he found air to continue speaking.

“You got rid of the body parts.”

“All of them.” Sherlock nodded, reassuring him.

John wanted to scream at him. He never thought that he would get so bloody irritated by the sight of a clean kitchen. It never crossed his mind that he would want to scream at his insufferable flatmate due him doing something right at once. And everything became worse with the realisation of something he was avoiding in the last three days.

Sherlock was moving out of London.

Sherlock was being an idiot, thinking that doing things that John would appreciate would make everything easier. It was more like his way of saying “Hey John, look, this is how the kitchen will be like once I leave. It’s not that bad, as you always wanted the kitchen to remain clean for the food. You’ll be able to cook more often. To hell with takeaways.” And the blond didn’t like thinking about it, even that he had to face it in ten days.

He took his tea from Sherlock and left to his armchair without any more words. On the very moment that John turned away from him to do that, the detective watched him do so with certain sadness on his icy blue eyes.

When he went to sit on his own armchair, John couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“You’re a bloody bastard, did you know that?”

“You’ve told me that a thousand of times.” Sherlock let out a chuckle.

“It’s… it’s not like you to keep the kitchen clean.”

“I know.”

“So, why did you clean the kitchen?”

“I thought you’d be a bit happier.”

“Don’t dare to do it again. I can get spoiled if you keep doing these things.”

Sherlock’s only answer was a sad smile.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On that fourth night, John went out to a pub with Lestrade. The day had been really stressful to deal with, especially because of how hard the realisation of Sherlock leaving was hitting him, the awkward feeling of his chest tightening at some points of the day, when the madman thought that he couldn’t see the sadness which took his eyes and didn’t try anything to disguise that, but yet John would manage to get a glimpse of it.

It was hurting Sherlock too, yet that he denied, that he tried to pull in that cold expression of his in an attempt of preventing John from feeling his melancholy. And it was hurting John to see Sherlock so hurt as he was himself.

He needed to talk about it with someone and even that Lestrade wasn’t that much in good terms with Sherlock as himself, John knew that it could help, somehow.

“So, John, how are the things going?” Lestrade asked before taking a sip of his drink.

“To be quite honest, Greg, terrible. Sherlock suddenly decided that he’ll leave London… in ten days.”

Lestrade almost choked on his drink when he heard that such a thing was about to happen.

“What?!”

John sighed.

“I think that he isn’t happy with the way that people keep treating him even with all this time since he came back.”

“Listen, if it’s about the lack of cases-“

“No, don’t apologise” John cut him “It’s not your fault. He had always been such a bloody moron with everything.”

“Yeah, sounds pretty much like him. But I need to let you know. I want to let him into cases- God, the whole team wants him, even Donovan and Anderson. You needed to see their faces when I explained why we couldn’t keep doing that.” He took a sip from his glass “Our boss is keeping an eye on the whole team even since he came back. Even that Sherlock got his name cleaned, the boss doesn’t trust us with mostly of the hard cases. I can’t blame him. He doesn’t want some disaster to happen by letting amateurs to get so much information. Not that you guys are amateurs, though.”

“I get it. But still… I don’t want him to leave. It was hard once to accept that he was dead… but he wasn’t and it was hard to accept that too…”

“It’s hard to see him leaving too, isn’t it?”

“Especially if you consider that he also looks hurt from doing it, yes.”

Lestrade spent half a minute contemplating the ice cubes starting to melt on his glass before speaking again, never rising his eyes.

“Did you ever consider convicting him otherwise?”

“Many times, but I don’t know how.”

“Give him a reason to stay, John.” Greg smiled.

John was rendered confused.

“How? The cases were the only thing he was staying for, it seems. I can’t give him a case, you can’t either.”

“I can’t _now_ , but I may be able someday. But he needs to stay.” Lestrade turned his head at him, trying to find a sign that could tell that John got what he meant by that. “You’re the only one that can. I know that.”

“I don’t know how, Greg.”

“I’m sure that you’ll find a way.” He gave a comforting pat on John’s back. “If nothing works, just chase after him and drag him back.”

Both of them laughed. John still couldn’t see how that would even work if he tried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On the sixth day, John came home from his practice to find Sherlock playing his violin, absently minded to the point where he didn’t notice the blond walking in and almost jumped when John finally spoke.

“Never heard this one before. Which one is it?”

“Song of the Caged Bird” He said without turning around just yet. “by Lindsey Stirling.”

“It’s quite sad.”

And it was. But it was still beautiful, John couldn’t deny.

“It is, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, starting to lower his violin, a grin playing on his lips for brief seconds.

“Keep playing” He almost whispered. “I’ll make us some tea.”

There weren’t any further words, as Sherlock raised the instrument again.

John was going to miss him so much.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the eleventh day, Sherlock just came behind him randomly and gave him a hug. None of them said a thing about that and Sherlock left to his bedroom, leaving a confused John in the living room.

They barely spoke for the rest of the day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the night of the twelfth day, the realisation hit John straight in the face and he felt stupid that he didn’t notice that before.

He loved Sherlock.

The worst was that he didn’t see that happening, he just realised it suddenly, as if he had forgotten it even before noticing it. He wondered if perhaps Lestrade noticed it too and thus suggested for him to find a way to make the madman stay, so it’d not hurt him.

But still, he didn’t know how he could convince Sherlock to stay.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sherlock”

The man shifted to look at his shorter friend from the sofa, intrigued by the sudden interruption.

“Why are you even leaving again?”

“I’ve told you already” John could tell by the man’s voice how much he was sickening bored “There’s no more interesting cases. Nobody would trust me with such business. It’s either that or you having me sulking to death.”

“You always sulk, regardless of the place. Can’t you just do it here?”

“I’ll write to you.”

John just stared at him, not believing his friend’s serious expression, how much he was decided about leaving. It made John annoyed.

“That’s not the point, Sherlock. I-“

“I’m going to miss you too, isn’t that what you want to hear? There. You can come over the summer.” Sherlock sighed.

The blond man couldn’t take that anymore. He retrieved his coat to leave before the need of punching his friend ever came.

“John? John, where are you going?” He shifted up, apprehensively.

“I need some air.”

Sherlock looked painfully at John as he just left. Did he do something wrong?

 

 

* * *

 

 

The packing on the eve’s evening was boring like mostly of the normal things people did where to Sherlock. John was helping him with it, but it was still a very dull thing. Although, the man was quiet while doing so. The detective had this strange sensation on his throat during the whole time they spent packing his things. He suspected that this was how most people felt whilst they were leaving someone.

On other hand, John felt like he had failed in trying to find a way to make Sherlock give up on this and stay. He couldn’t talk because he knew that if he did, he would get all sentimental and cry. He wondered why it was happening to him from all people.

When they finished, both stood up and stayed beside each other in the bedroom, looking at the pile of boxes, that wasn’t so big, but not so small.

“Well, we are done with packing.” John said, trying to break the silence. “Maybe we could have dinner and watch some crappy humour on TV-“

But then, he looked up at Sherlock and froze for an unknown amount of time.

Sherlock was _crying_.

He wasn’t even sobbing, the tears were just streaming down his cheeks as if they couldn’t be held anymore. The man didn’t even try to hide them as he turned to look down at John. He had no idea of what to say.

“Sherlock… why are you even moving?” He asked when he regained the will to speak.

“I don’t… know anymore. I can’t-… I can’t take the lack of cases anymore… but it hurts to leave.” God, he never heard Sherlock’s voice this small. He took a step forward to hug the man and the detective welcomed the embrace, hugging back tightly. “I think that I’m confused.”

“Then don’t leave” John said and looked up “Stay. Or take me with you, but don’t leave me like this.” It was almost a whisper. “Just don’t leave me again.”

John was trying really hard not to cry, to keep his voice steady. He watched his friend’s face as the man pondered over his request. He brought a hand to wipe away Sherlock’s tears from his right cheek and couldn’t take it anymore.

He pulled Sherlock down for a kiss.

However on the same instant the realisation that perhaps the man didn’t feel the same towards him passed through him as a jolt.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

But Sherlock just silenced him with another kiss. John was still a bit startled as he started to kiss him back, hands sliding to the nape of the taller man’s neck, fingers tangling in the dark curly locks as he kept sliding his hands up to pull Sherlock closer to him. He soon felt the other’s tongue on his lower lip, asking him silently to open his mouth and let the detective’s tongue slide inside.

They never knew how many time passed as they kept exploring each other’s mouths, tongues entwining as they did so. The world was forgotten for a moment. There was nothing beside that kiss in that instant.

When they eventually broke up for air, Sherlock had a puzzled expression on his face.

“I thought… I thought that you said once… that you were straight, John.” His breathing was coming in pants.

“I believed that, too. But then, I just realised… that you were some… kind of exception.”

“You’re an exception for me, too.”

Sherlock smiled at him, before claiming John’s lips again, slowly this time, as he backed him to the bed until they fell there with a soft ‘thump’. Sherlock was working on the buttons of John’s shirt when the shorter man couldn’t hold his curiosity anymore.

“Since when did you know?”

“Hm?”

“That you were… you know… falling for me.” John was so sure that that sounded a tiny bit ridiculous. He didn’t even know why he was asking that, after it came out of his mouth.

“I knew since some days before the fall. But I realised some time later that I might have loved you since that very first night.” The comment made John blush a bit.

“Why did you never tell me that?”

“I believed you to be straight.” He said and lowered himself to kiss John’s neck, sucking on a spot where neck met shoulder. John hissed under him, bringing his hands to the dark curls.

Sherlock left a trail of kisses slowly down John’s body. There were going to be bruises here and there on the following day, but he was being delicately enough for those not to last for so many days. He paused only once, to tell John that

“There’s lube on the drawer of the nightstand.” His voice low against the other man’s skin. “So don’t worry about that. I felt you tensing when I got a little more down, so.”

“Why would you… even keep lube there?” John’s voice came between gasps “I never see you dating anyone.”

“You never know when you’ll need certain things. Besides, I was doing an experiment before.”

“I think that I don’t want to know what was that experiment about.” He could feel Sherlock smiling against his skin and pulled the man up again for a kiss. “You’re still way too clothed, though. Let’s fix it.” Sherlock chuckled lightly at the comment.

He left John work on his shirt buttons, discarding the purple piece of clothing on the ground right after he was done doing so, exposing the creamy skin of Sherlock’s chest.

Not that he didn’t ever had seen Sherlock shirtless, as the man kept walking through the flat in different states of undress as if it was natural to do so. But this felt different, especially considering the situation, the place, the way how Sherlock started to undo his belt. However, John just noticed how things were going so fast.

“Aren’t we going a bit too fast with this? I mean, we both just found out how the other feels a few minutes ago.”

“Problem?” He just questioned, much like he did in the first time that they met and Sherlock just communicated that they would take a look on a flat. It just made John remember how even with that he just moved in with Sherlock in the end.

“No, just… continue.”

“Yes, why not.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

John lose track of the time.

He couldn’t say if it were five minutes or thirty seconds since Sherlock had got rid of his trousers and pants, freeing his throbbing erection – which also he wasn’t sure of when it happened – and started to stroke, slowly increasing the pace.

He was too busy drowning in the sensation of it to care about the flowing minutes, but he knew that it didn’t happen faster than a heartbeat but also not slower than an eternity.

And it felt so good, so relieving to have Sherlock as the one making him feel like this.

He let out a whine of protest when the detective stopped to retrieve the lube from the nightstand’s drawer. He was almost getting _there_.

When John looked up, he noticed that Sherlock was wearing only his pants. But again, he got himself too lost in everything that the taller man was making him feel that he barely paid any attention to anything else.

He watched with his breath laboured as Sherlock coated his ridiculous long fingers with lube, whispering a quiet “Relax” when he was done doing so.

John hissed at the invasion. Sherlock lowered his face to the smaller man’s neck, his free hand meeting one of John’s which was gripping the bed sheets.

 It felt strangely good.

Sherlock kept sliding his finger in and out as he felt John getting a little more comfortable with it. After a while there was a second one inside, scissoring the man open. Eventually, the blond let out a moan louder than the previous ones when the detective found that spot.

“Just… get on with it. If… if you keep doing this… I think that I’m not going to last so long.”

Sherlock just nodded and got rid of his own pants, giving himself a few strokes with lube before positioning himself between John’s thighs. He searched John’s eyes, asking silently if he was ready. The doctor just nodded and Sherlock entered him, slowly as he could.

_Oh God_.

Sherlock moaned at the tightness that he felt around his shaft, but still kept himself from thrusting immediately, so John could adjust to the feeling.

“Are you… alright?” He asked between pants. John just nodded, afraid that the words would fail him if he tried to speak.

When the dark haired man finally began to thrust, he noticed that their positions would make it a bit difficult and pulled John up so the shorter man was sitting on his lap, for the lack of a proper word. John buried his face on Sherlock’s shoulder, gripping there firmly.

Sherlock kept moving, shifting his angle, searching for that one spot once again. Both of them became a mess of moans after a few moments. He could feel John’s hands tensing even more on his shoulder, together with a louder gasp from the man when he found it.

_Almost there, almost there_.

He kept hitting it until John reached between them to touch himself. Sherlock placed a kiss on the top of his head.

“Oh God… I’m so close…” John moaned on his shoulder.

“Me too.”

A few moments later, John’s whole body tensed as he came undone between them, biting down on his lover’s shoulder. Sherlock came with some more thrusts, with John’s name on his lips. They collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily in the afterglow. The detective slid out delicately, as they were both still sensible down there from such activities.

John pulled the taller man to his chest, embracing him tightly.

“Are you still leaving?”

“Not anymore.”  He buried his face on John’s chest, taking a deep breath “I’ll text Mycroft in the morning, so he doesn’t waste time sending me a car. Or you do that and say that you’re keeping me.”

John played with the other man’s curly hair and just listened to him as he spoke.

“Or we could go, kill some time and come back two days later, just to annoy him.”

Both of them laughed at the idea. The look on Mycroft’s face would be priceless if they did that, yet that it was so much trouble to go through.

Sherlock got away from John’s arms to get some tissues to clean them up. Before he could even leave the bedroom, the smaller man called him.

“Sherlock.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, John.” He said, smiling at his lover from the doorframe, before disappearing from John’s sight.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, as John was reading the newspaper, Sherlock just came, took his face on his hands and kissed him softly.

“Well, what was that for?” John asked, a bit surprised by the sudden move.

“Lestrade texted. We’ve got a case.” He looked so happy that it was almost a crime.

“It was worth staying, then?”

“Yet that there we wouldn’t get a new case, yes. Because of you.”

John couldn’t help but kiss him again.

“I’ll get my coat then.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Almost thirty years later, John was staring at the horizon from his chair, outside the cosy cottage in Sussex. It seemed so peaceful compared to London, but still it was never quiet because of Sherlock, who often in a while would blow up a random experiment. Of course it made him so annoyed, but this was how his Sherlock was like and he didn’t want the man to change, even one bit.

John sighed at the sight of the blue sky.

“John! John, come to see this! Hurry or you’ll miss it.” Sherlock shouted from afar, wearing a bee protecting veil.

John got a bee protecting veil and got there the faster he could do with his cane, which he was using again due his age giving back his limp, this time not psychosomatic.

“What’s it, Sherlock?”

The taller man pointed at the top of the bee hive, where there were two bees staying there, quiet. It would be such a silly thing to point at, if one of them hadn’t its wing damaged. The healthy one refused to fly, yet with both men so near.

“That bee is staying beside the other with the damaged wing. I tried to make it fly away, but it keeps returning. Doesn’t it remember you of something?” He turned to look at John’s face with a half-smile on his lips, like on their old times, when they were looking at a crime scene for clues and Sherlock consulted him. Not that it was so helpful, as often Sherlock already knew all that John had to tell about it. But it stimulated him to give better deductions.

It took almost a minute to John to realise the comparison.

“Oh, Sherlock, you silly old man.”

“Aren’t we both silly old men?”

They laughed together, but something made John curious.

“But isn’t that poor bee going to die sooner with its wing like that?”

“Most probably, unfortunately.”

“What about the other one?”

“In a normal case, it would go on with its bee life. But if you look closely, you’ll see that this isn’t very usual to happen. Maybe it would die, but I’m not sure. We could take them to our kitchen and watch as it goes.”

“I bet that you’re right.”

An awkward silence fell for a while before John decided to talk again.

“What would it be if I died before you?”

Sherlock looked at him, frown fulfilling his face.

“I’d die from sadness. But on the end I would be happy again because I’d get to see you once more.”

John got a hold of the other man’s hand, squeezing it.

“I don’t know if you believe in reincarnation, but it would be so terrible ironic if we got back to this world as bees.”

“Yes, yes it would.” Sherlock chuckled.

However, on the end, Sherlock decided, it didn’t matter what was going to happen.

It just mattered that he stayed beside John for the longer he could.

And he didn’t have any intention to leave. 


End file.
